A Push in the Right Direction
by MePo
Summary: "...if our 'date' had been even the slightest bit romantic, would Fred have used me as a battering ram to tear unsuspecting couples apart on the dance floor?" George/Angelina. Not enough stories with a happy George in them.


A/N: I haven't written for years and now I've written two oneshots in quick succession, both about George Weasley. Anyway, I think JKR definitely gave him the short end of the stick. This is my take on how he and Angelina may have gotten together. Reviews appreciated =)

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><p>Angelina dropped to her hands and knees, crawling under the cashier's desk to retrieve the mug she had dropped. Whispering "Lumos", she held her wand aloft so that she could see clearly. The mug lay in a corner, surrounded by a puddle of tea and with a long crack snaking down one side. Thankfully, it was otherwise unharmed, so she would not need to clean up a mess of shattered glass, a job she particularly disliked given the unpleasant consequences if she overlooked a few pieces.<p>

"Er, Ange? Not that I don't appreciate the view, but what are you doing down there?"

She shot up immediately at the sound of George's voice, banging her head against the top of the desk because she didn't withdraw fast enough. Wincing and rubbing at the newly formed lump, she turned around, mug in hand, to glare at him. He grinned back unapologetically, taking in her disheveled appearance, her usual braid having come undone in the flurry of customers that morning, her clothes crumpled and now dusty from groveling on the floor. Her chocolate brown eyes were sparkling, whether from amusement or anger, or both, he couldn't tell.

"George Weasley," she said, exasperation lacing every word, "Not only was that an _extremely_ inappropriate thing to say to an employee, you are now the reason behind an enormous lump on the back of my head. And I can tell you honestly that the temptation to return the favour is overpowering."

"Er, return the favour as in give me a lump on the head, or return the favour as in say something inappropriate right back?" he asked, his eyes crinkling slightly in amusement as she was left momentarily speechless. "And Ange, since when have you been just an employee?" He slung an arm over her shoulders, steering her away from the desk. "Now, it's lunch break, and I suggest you take some time off. Mum's making lasagna!"

"Oh, I couldn't impose," she said quickly, "I'm sure I can whip up some pasta in my flat, I've got some pasta sauce left over from yesterday, so I'm good to go, really."

George looked at her, openly incredulous. Then, his expression changed, becoming exaggeratedly thoughtful; a few creases appeared in his forehead, he raised one eyebrow, and gripped his chin between thumb and forefinger. "Hmm, half-cooked pasta—" here, he was interrupted by Angelina's choked sound of protest, which he ignored, "— I repeat, _half-cooked _pasta with leftover tomato sauce, _or_ Molly Weasley's lasagna, fresh from the oven?" Angelina was visibly wavering between annoyance and laughter now. "C'mon! You don't have a choice!" he laughed, tugging at her arm insistently.

"Oh, _alright_," she said, her voice trembling with laughter. "Just give me a minute, let me neaten up." She disappeared into the bathroom, letting out a short laugh at George's shout of "More than a minute, and I'll panic!"

Inside, she quickly retied her no-nonsense braid, dusted off her clothes and scrubbed with wet fingers at the corner of her purple T-shirt, where she had spilled a gob of purple goo which George had been working on for God only knew what reason. Outside, she heard a shout of "I'm panicking!" followed by a ridiculously high pitched squeal and she grinned at her reflection. She loved it when George was like this, as if he hadn't lost a part of himself two years ago, as if he didn't have a care in the world. Running her hand over her head one more time, she darted out the door, only to run into George, who was standing only two paces away. "_George_!" she chided, smacking him across the head. "I'm ready, see you there!" And laughing, she apparated, leaving him standing there with a bemused expression on his face.

…

Molly flung the door open as Angelina appeared in her front lawn with a loud pop, followed shortly by George, who apparated so close that he knocked Angelina to her knees. Chuckling, he patted her head and darted in past his mother, calling out a greeting as he did. Molly smiled and shook her head, helping Angelina up.

"George giving you trouble, dear?"

"Mrs. Weasley, _you have no idea_," Angelina replied earnestly, following the older woman inside. "He's given me this enormous lump at the back of my head, and I think he's _trying_ to drive me crazy today." As Mrs. Weasley nodded sympathetically, a smile spread across her face. "I wouldn't have it any other way."

She entered the dining room to find utter chaos reigning. Three year old Teddy, his hair a vibrant shade of red (probably to match the majority of people sitting around him) and his eyes the strangest shade of violet, had grabbed hold of one of Molly's favourite crystal glasses, and was presently standing on top of a chair, dangling it in front of him by two fingers. One year old Victoire giggled from where she was burrowed into her father's arms, and Harry frantically knelt down in front of Teddy, hands clasped in front of him in imitation of a beggar.

"Please, Teddy, we can't play catch with this," he was saying, shaking his clasped hands theatrically as he spoke, "I'll buy you a ball, I'll buy you ten balls, if you just give this back. Mrs. Weasley will _murder_ me!"

"No no, Harry, don't worry," George said soothingly. "She will merely disembowel you. And what good are all those pesky organs anyway, eh?" Percy and Charlie chortled at this, while Ginny glowered.

"Oh, Harry," said Mrs. Weasley, causing the poor boy to leap a mile in the air. "I will neither kill nor disembowel you. Now Teddy, sweetheart, will you put the glass down? I'm about to put lunch on and I could really use your help." Teddy's chest seemed to swell with importance, and he promptly let go of the glass (which tumbled into Harry's hand as he dived forward), hopped off the chair and followed Molly out of the room as meekly as a lamb.

Chuckling, Angelina looked around the crowded room and noticed someone she did not recognize, a pretty, dark-haired woman, probably around a year older than her. Feeling Angelina's gaze upon her, she immediately stood up, smiling, and extended her hand.

"Hello, I'm Audrey," she said in a pleasant voice with a slightly Scottish lilt to it.

"_Audrey_?" George cut in before Angelina could reply. "I've heard a _lot_ about you from Percy, Audrey," he continued, enthusiastically shaking her hand. "And when I say a lot, I _mean_ a lot. I mean that he doesn't shut up about you." Ignoring Percy's spluttering from behind them, he smiled broadly. "You're Audrey Hopkins. Age: Twenty-three. Hair: Brown. Eyes: Also brown. Favourite colour: Red (and may I say, you show startlingly good taste for one who is dating my brother). Favourite so—"

"That's enough," Percy said, stepping up to them. A murderous frown had descended on his face, and he was obviously worried that Audrey was going to be freaked out by how much he had obviously discussed her at home. However, to his relief, Audrey laughed warmly, putting an arm around his waist.

"Very good," she approved, her eyes twinkling. "But I think the fact that I'm dating your brother is enough to show what good taste I have, don't you?" Before George could answer, she said, "Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to see if Molly needs any help. Nice meeting you, George, and you too, Angelina." She beamed at both of them and left the room, leaving Angelina to wonder how she knew her name.

As Percy rounded angrily on George, Ron cleared his throat. "So, who thinks they can take me in a round of chess, eh?" As a chorus of groans arose around the room, he said, "Hey, it might be someone's lucky day today! No one? Bill? Fleur? _Angie?_" As everyone averted their gaze or made up a hurried excuse, he turned to Hermione, looking at her pleadingly. She sighed resignedly and drew up a chair, and he grinned triumphantly. "Thanks Hermione! I knew there's a reason I love you!"

…

After the most delicious lunch Angelina had eaten in a long time, in which a lot more than home-made lasagna was served, Molly stood up and announced, "I'd like George to help me with the dishes today." There was a collective "Ooooh" from all the Weasley siblings, as it was a well known fact that whenever Molly had a bone to pick with someone, she asked them to wash the dishes with her so that they could chat in private. George pushed his chair back and stood up, looking rather apprehensive. Waving his wand so that all the dishes rose from their places and floated in the air, he followed his mother into the kitchen, stopping at the doorway to give everyone a heroic wave.

"What d'you reckon that's all about?" asked Ron, leaning back in his chair with his hands folded over his stomach, a picture of utter satisfaction. Hermione, sitting next to him, prim and proper, dabbed at her mouth with a napkin.

"Well, I think I have a fair idea," she said, and as she did, she seemed to throw a significant glance towards Angelina.

"You think it's about _me_?" Angelina said incredulously. "I told her he was driving me crazy, but I'm sure she knew I was kidding. I mean—" Her rambling was cut short by everyone bursting into laughter. She looked around, her face a picture of confusion.

"Eef you do not know," said Fleur, "I theenk you are quite blind." Angelina furrowed her brow and opened her mouth to speak, but then Fleur said, "Do me a favour, will you? Take zees glass to the kitchen, I must go check on Victoire." Angelina obligingly took the glass in her hands and walked to the kitchen. As she approached, she stubbed her toe on a very solid little table, and promptly began hopping about, her mouth open in a silent "Ow!"

"Mum, drop it, okay?" George's voice clearly bespoke intense irritation. "It's not that sim- I have my reasons, _okay_?"

"George dear, you can't deny you have feelings for her." Molly's voice was reproving, the way it would become when she was lecturing little Teddy because he was being hyper.

"Feelings _shmeelings_, mum!" George exclaimed, exasperated. "Ange is great—" Angelina froze with one foot in the air, realizing they were speaking about her, "— but she went to the Yule Ball with Fred, so I can't just go up to her and say, 'Oh, hey Ange, I look an awful lot like that guy you went on your first date with, so what do you say to you, me, and dinner at the Leaky Cauldron at eight?' It's not _done_, mum."

Angelina's eyebrows had disappeared into her hair as she finally understood what had been holding George back all this time. He had recently been getting on her nerves with the way he sent mixed signals, one moment saying things like 'Purple really suits you, Ange" and the next acting extremely distant, leaving her completely confused. But _honestly_, he knew quite well what the situation between Fred and her had been, was he _really_ that stupid? Her thoughts got her thoroughly riled up and before she quite realized what she was doing, she had marched into the kitchen, Fleur's glass gripped fiercely in one hand, and banged the door behind her.

Mrs. Weasley and George both turned towards her, their faces bearing the peculiar expression one gets when confronted with the person one has been talking about only moments before. She ignored this; her eyes were fixed on George's face, which was now decidedly apprehensive as she marched towards him so that she was standing only a foot away, and poked him hard in the chest.

"George Ruddy Weasley," she said, punctuating each word with another jab, "You know _quite_ well that Fred and I went to the Ball together because we didn't want to go alone. And you knew that, because Fred told you!" George's face was becoming increasingly mutinous as she continued her tirade, and Molly discreetly slipped out of the room to give them some privacy. "And if you have some half-baked idea that he was lying, and was actually in love with me, then think about this: if our 'date' had been even the slightest bit romantic, would Fred have used me as a battering ram to tear unsuspecting couples apart on the dance floor?" George's lips quirked up at the memory of how disgruntled everybody had been that day, and what a wide berth they had given the dancing couple. "Or, if you have an _equally_ half-baked idea—" here she prodded him again "— that _I_ was hopelessly in love with _Fred_, then don't you think I would've gone out with him again?" She gave a short, humourless laugh which obviously alarmed George, who backed into the sink. "You are so bloody dense sometimes that I wonder why I even bother with you! Now, lunch break is over and I am going back to the shop. I expect you to show up sooner rather than later, and when the day is over I would like to go for dinner with you at the Leaky Cauldron. Is that clear?" George, looking dazed, nodded. "Good. Bye!"

Wrenching the door open, she saw practically the entire family standing outside, having obviously eavesdropped. Harry, Hermione, Fleur and Audrey hovered on the outskirts of the group, looking vaguely apologetic. Finding this invasion of privacy funny rather than irritating, she smiled at them all, exited through the front door, and apparated back to the shop.

An hour later, a still-dazed George showed up at her counter with a bunch of flowers that squirted water at her as she took them from him. In the laughter that followed it seemed only natural to reach out and hug him tightly around the neck, so that a little boy entering the shop yelled "Gross!" and backpedalled.

Really, these Weasley men, she thought as she kissed him. Needed a massive push before they could do _anything_ right.


End file.
